My phone vibrates on the table, and I answer when one of my tech’s numbers pops up.
“Yes, Tina.”
“Sorry to bother you. There’s a situation at the warehouse. They just received a strange package.”
It’s not technically a warehouse. We call it that, as it’s more generic than holding cells, torture room, and arms deposit. And most of it is underground.
“What do you mean by package?”
“They said some courier kid came over with a large box with your name on it. They stopped him for questioning, and the poor bastard was shitting himself. Told security he got paid five hundred by this guy in a black hoodie. Didn’t get a good look, as his face was concealed.”
My mind goes straight to the person on the CCTV tapes who broke into my car. Could it be?
“Did they open it?” I ask.
“Of course not. It’s for you.”
“I’m on my way.”
I hang up, rising and rushing toward the back door. But as I walk through, I almost crash into Maddox.
“Where are you running off to?” he asks, brow raised as he regards me.
“Warehouse. They received a suspicious package.”
“We don’t receive packages there.” He cocks his head, crossing his arms over his expansive chest.
“Precisely.”
“I’m coming with you.”
I want to protest and tell him to stay here. What if it’s yet another puzzle box? What if it hides other photos of me ininterestingsituations? But protesting means revealing a vulnerability that has been growing since my car was broken into. And there is no way I’m showing that.
I let him join, riding together a few miles out of Queenscove, where our warehouse is tucked away in the middle of nowhere.
* * *
“Carter, what the hell is that?” Maddox asks, his brows creating angry welts between them as he regards the wooden-and-metal object.
Answering would mean admitting that for the last week or two, I’ve been manipulated by someone. Sent on atreasurehunt that I followed like a good little puppy.
Instead, I turn the hexagonal prism in my hands to find out its secrets, noting how much more complex and beautiful it looks compared to the last ones.
What an odd thought.
Beautiful.
But I push it back in the expansive chamber of my brain where I shove all thoughts and sensations I don’t want to process.
Or don’t know how.
“It’s another puzzle box, isn’t it?” Maddox says.
I continue my quest to open it, pressing and pulling the delicate divots and shards that appear. Flipping it over and over until, finally, I can see the scroll inside.
Only, I can’t reach it.
“I can’t...fuck!” It looks like it should open, but it’s not fucking letting me. There must be another trick to it. “I think—there!” I exclaim as I find the smallest of divots in the brushed metal.
